A quick ride over on the L Train and we found ourselves in Williamsburg this past Saturday. With no agenda or prior research done, we roamed aimlessly throughout the area, stopping wherever we pleased. Note to self, though: next time, go with a plan. However, we did happen upon the Bedford Cheese Shop. An adorable and delightfully pungent little shop with a vast selection of cheeses, cured meats, and imported goodies. I picked up nearly everything in the store and inspected it carefully. All impeccable. All intriguing. All a little out of my price range. Then we came across a tiny sign reading "Australian Feta." "Australian Feta?" my travel buddie asked. I had no answer. No insight. Never knew it existed. And when one of the women working there saw the curious looks on our faces, she offered us a try.
There are hardly any words, really. Never will I ever be able to look at that dry, crumbly stuff again because Australian Feta? Trumps all other variations of Feta that this world has got to offer. Devastatingly creamy and not the least bit harshly tangy, the cheese sits in a bowl of silky olive oil and a few sprigs of thyme. You feel transported when it starts to melt on your tongue. Where? I don't know. But smeared onto some crispy baguette, a bottle of red and good company, you're done. Absolutely done for.
141 N 4th St., Brooklyn